


Eastwatch

by TheReluctantBadger



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gendrya Big Bang, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24864001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantBadger/pseuds/TheReluctantBadger
Summary: In the frozen North stands The Wall.From one side, one man struggles to make his way south. From the other side, one girl rides alone towards the solid stronghold that sits there.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 46
Kudos: 80





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Gendrya Big Bang event!   
> Artwork for each chapter has been provided by the amazing super-nerd-stark-angel, with whom it has been nothing less than a pleasure to work wit
> 
> The events in this fic follow show canon with the exception of Arya going to Eastwatch upon her return to the North, instead of going to Winterfell. It has also changed so that Jon and the men beyond The Wall are more along the lines of being stranded, instead of being surrounded by wights.

_ _

_ _

_ Bringing air into his nose hurt, but puffing it back out was no better because that meant that he once more had to draw cold air inward. It hurt his chest and made him cough violently, but Gendry ran on. His legs burned, both from the exertion and the biting snow that had seeped into his breeches and stockings. _

_ How long had he been running now for? A day? Two? It must have been more because the blood that stained his clothes was as frozen as the tears that clung to his cheeks. _

_ Gendry hadn't thought twice; when Jon told him to run he had gone. No care was given to the distance, not to the wound that lay open across his chest. The rest of the men were hopeless in the cave where he had left them, and he was the only hope of getting word to Jon's queen. More likely than not, the note that he held fast in his hand would be frozen there when he finally dropped down dead. But at least he had to try... _

_ Something caught his foot and a sharp pain shot through his toes, but it was soon forgotten under the pain that came when his face connected with the frozen ground. The blood that came from his nose was frozen before he even had a chance to regain his footing. _

********

Snow blew across Arya's face, and she smiled. She was home, finally truly home. The horse underneath her shuddered and stamped at the packed earth. At least it was fairing better than the first horse would have. It had been a thin southern mount with hair that was too thin and sleek. This one had at least enough growth to shelter it from the rough winds.

Only just that morning had been her first sighting of the wall, but the smell of the sea had been in her nostrils since the first of the week. It wouldn't be long now, and she could only pray to the grey skies that she would reach Eastwatch in time to meet them.

The image that Jon painted in her mind couldn't be true to life. Last she had seen him was as an eager young boy. But he was a man now, grown and tried, and if the stories about him we're true then he had seen just as much misery as she had. Still, her heart ached for the familiarity that his hand missing her hair was sure to bring. 

It was that thought that made her urge the horse into a trot. The mare protested at first but soon picked up to a brisker pace.

*********

_ His vision was blurring now, though that could have just been from the harsh snow that was stinging into his eyes. Was that a tree that he had passed, or could it have been a pile of stones? Whatever it may have been Gendry didn't turn back to check, focusing his eyes ahead to the large pale shape that was beginning to materialize through the snow. It was far off still, too far to give him any relief, but it was more than he had seen yet.  _

_ The foot that had struck the rocks had stopped hurting long ago and now only felt heavy and cumbersome. He no longer felt the pain across his chest either. No, the only pain that he was feeling now was from his dried nostrils and lips, the onslaught of ice-cold air cracking his skin and burning with every inhale. _

**********

The man only laughed when Arya told him of her purpose for being there. Though, with the demeaning look on his face, she highly suspected that he would have laughed at most anything that she had told him.

"That group left from here over a week ago," the black brother bellowed as if it was still some form of an inside joke.

"Then you'll tell me where they left from, and what direction they took," Arya said firmly. No, this would not dissuade her.

More laughter came from the man and he attempted to reach out to pat her head. "Come now, darlin'. We'll get you some warm broth and send a raven to Winterfell. See if they know anything about ya."

His hand had barely made contact with her head before her own hand shot up, grabbing his wrist and twisting it grotesquely to the left until the man began to double over. The screams that he emitted were enough to call the attention of some of the other men in the courtyard. "You will not," Arya stated, as calmly as if she was talking to a child. "You will prepare me a fresh sack of food and a fresh horse, and then you will show me where they went."

"I….I…..I….." was all the man could manage in between cries until Arya finally released his wrist. The reins of her horse were taken in hand and briskly she began to lead it to the stables.

The stables, it turned out, was a run-down shack of a building, with leaning walls and holes in some of the stalls big enough to walk through. So she found the least exposed stall and placed the poor mare inside, whispering to her a promise of fresh straw and oats before she left her. But she had only just turned from her silent friend when shouts broke out in the courtyard, rippling out from somewhere else in the keep. Arya, as to be expected, followed it, one eyebrow crooked in curiosity. Eastwatch soon wrapped itself around her, and she followed it's paths until she was met with the site of the Wall's gate, swung open wide to the dark tunnel that ran beyond.

Through the icy passage rang shouts, cries of “It’s one of Jon’s men!” and “Easy with him.”

“Bring him on through,” another voice said, before the first voice said, “What’s that in his hand? Is it paper?”

By then, Arya had reached the mouth of the tunnel. Voices and grunts continued to echo through, and the men who they matched could only be seen in flits of shadow until they had grown close enough for the pale light to catch them. Three of them were carrying, from the way they had been talking, someone; and that someone was definitely not moving.

Out they hauled him into the open, and then over to an unused cart to lay him on. Arya waited for no invitation and pushed her way over. When one of the men darted away with a shout to get the maester, she finally got a good look at the man.

He was younger than she had anticipated, for whatever reason that was. With what little of his pale face stuck out of his hoods, she reasoned that he must not be much older than her. White snow caked over much of the rest of him, save for the dirty red ice that stained over one side of his chest and trailed from his nose. If she hadn’t known better, she would have mistaken him for a corpse.

But no, he hadn’t passed on. Not yet at least. One of the men beside the cart seemed sure that it would be soon, though. “Don’t bother, Don!” he called after the man who had run for the maester. “He’ll be dead by nightfall anyway.” A few of the other men grunted their agreement. The man who had spoken, large and round with a heap of grey hair right on the very top of his head, pried the small roll of paper from the man’s fist. The movement prompted the man on the cart to wheeze. The men only shook their heads, some muttering prayers as they began to dissipate from the cart.

Arya watched them begin to part, and then looked down at him yet again. He was one of the men who left with Jon if the men were right. He had the look of it, at least. With the small amount of facial hair that dusted his jaw there was no chance that he was a wildling. And he had brought them a note…

“The frozen fucks…” the large man growled behind her. “Someone go get Cotter! And kick Harmune out of his cups if you have to. Tell him to send a raven to the Targaryen! Jon the rest are stranded!”

Stranded.

They were in danger.

Arya’s feet twitched at the words. Within seconds she was obeying her limbs and turning away from the cart. No one stopped her as she marched back into the stables and grabbed her horse, but when she had mounted and began to make for the Wall gate it took mere moments before the large man had run over and grabbed the reins from her.

********

Cotter Pyke looked at Arya, and then back over at Harmune, before turning back to Arya again. Harmune, the maester, looked to her as though he was trying very hard to make sense of some indecipherable language that the scroll held. Arya simply stood still, as still and as calm as the snow that drifted past the panes of glass in the window. 

“I...assume this to be Jon’s handwriting.” Harmune finally declared though everyone in the small chamber knew full well that he could hardly see anything through the bloodshot eyes that glanced around at them.

“Very well.” Cotter nodded with a wave. “Send it to Dragonstone immediately.”

The drunken maester nodded and stood, although very uneasily, and held onto every single piece of furniture between the desk and the doorway before he had finally stumbled out of it. The large man who had led her into the chambers let out a disapproving grunt and spit on the floor.

But Arya kept her eyes on the man behind the desk, and Cotter in turn kept his narrow eyes on her. He almost reminded her of a snake with those eyes, but the pockmarks that littered his face told her that he was nothing but a speckled chicken.

“So,” he began with a sigh. “I admit, I do have a hard time doubting that you are kin to the King in the North. You have his same eyes and the long face of a Stark.” Arya kept that same long face motionless as Commander Pyke adjusted the fingers that were laced across his stomach. “But even if you are who you say, I cannot just let you ride off beyond the Wall. Jon and his men are already in danger, and sending you out there would just make for one more needless rescue when help does come.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Arya replied simply.

Cotter narrowed his eyes even further until they were nearly closed. “I don’t doubt that one bit.”

“Then what would be the point of trying?”

Cotter did close his eyes then. “Because,” he started slowly. “If I were to let you go, and you died along with the rest of them, then not only would Jon’s blood be on my hands, but yours as well.”

“Besides, my good lady,” the large man picked up. “Who’s to say that you can fare better out there than those men can?”

Arya cut her eyes to where he stood against the wall. “And who’s to say that you don’t wake up tomorrow with my name carved into your arse?” The man snorted in surprise. “I can fare just fine on my own.”

But Arya did give thought after that. The man had a point. She could fight, and she could see to herself. But could she do that beyond The Wall? Would food be as easy to find and enemies as easy to succumb to her blade? A small part of her, perhaps the ancient part of her blood, told her no.

“Fine then. I give my word as a Stark to stay,” Arya consented. She tried very hard not to let the words break her expression. “But you’ll do something to give me a reason for being here.”

Cotter cocked his head.

“The man that came back. Let me tend to him.”

The man against the wall groaned. “Look, my Lady. It’s very noble of you to want to save him. But, believe me, it’d be best to just let him pass easily. I’ll have some of the men move him into one of the sheds until we can dig a gra-”

“That man went out with my brother,” Arya snapped. “He went out willingly and ran back to give Jon and the rest a chance to be saved. You say that you know I’m a Stark. Starks have honor, and honor prevents me from just leaving him for death.”

The two men looked at each other, Arya noting that the man against the wall gave a good-natured shrug that she suspected meant “silly woman.” But, Cotter finally nodded and waved them all away.

******

The man was brought to one of the empty bedchambers, though Arya ordered the men to lay him across a low table first.

“I won’t have him dirtying the bed before I’ve cleaned him,” she said in a decided tone, watching for the bed to do as she said.

Once he was there, though, she had very little need of them. She had grabbed what she needed from the maester’s quarters. The drunken tendencies of the man had made for a very neglected store of supplies, but she found what little that could be useful to her and went to join the other men in time to see them carrying the limp body up the stairs and into the narrow hallway.

It wasn’t until the others had left the room, closing the door with low murmurs, that she allowed herself to set to work. She had always worked in solitary silence in The House, cleaning and preparing each corpse with silent contemplation. She would treat this man’s body no different, showing his life quiet respect even though it may very well pass from him before she was finished. 

Her cloak and outer garments were thrown off, allowing for as much movement as possible. Next, a pot of water was hung over the hearth and the fire was stoked until it filled the room with a bright blazing heat. The more warmth the better, for her next task finally brought her back to the man who lay motionless on the table.

Clotted snow fell to the floor as she pulled his large boots off. Removing his layered stockings revealed yet another injury. ‘There’s sure to be more. Frostbite as well,’ she told herself and gave a brief inspection to the dark purple skin that covered a mess of broken foot bones.

His fur trousers were unfastened and pulled down his legs, followed by several layers of woolen underclothes. Cold moisture had seeped down through them all, and Arya carried the dripping garments to be laid by the fire. It was then that she turned and pulled one of the blankets from off of the bed and laid it reverently over the man’s lower half. He did, after all, still deserve his decency.

The thick coat and all that came underneath it was pulled from his body, and Arya paused just long enough to lay a hand on his chest to feel for its movement. It was subtle, but there nonetheless. She found herself then thankful that she could finally get a look at the wound that had been made evident by the frozen blood on his coat. Dropping the last of his garments by the still blazing fire, Arya rolled up her sleeves and took the pot of water from its hook.

She was sweating by this point, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the paleness of the man’s skin, and the way his face only barely twitched as she dapped the wet cloth over his shoulder. It was sliced nearly through to the bone and ran down onto the meat of his chest. The thought ran through her head of sewing it closed as she rinsed the cloth and began running it over the opposite side of his body.

Thoughts then turned to her brother. How did this man know him? How did they come to meet? Cotter and the men had known little of him, and he was not dressed in black, meaning that he was of the Watch. He was tall, though, and broad enough to tell her that he favored physical work. She nearly snorted at the realization that he must be from further south, for that could be the only reason for his short hair. 

Her eyes slowly moved down from his stubbled black hair, her hand absentmindedly stilling on his torso. She took in his face and all of its features that still spoke to her: the strong brow, the set cheekbones, the mouth that could very easily pull into a scowl.

_ ‘He must have a scowl that would rival Gen…..’ _

Arya suddenly felt as though she was in shock. Her hand dropped the wet cloth, landing in a wet thump on the floor beside her. It just couldn't be him. There was no chance of it. 

His name had come to her mind often in the early days of her stay in Braavos, she hadn't thought of him for so long now.

Besides, she thought, his hair was shorter now. She had never seen him without hair that hung over his eyes and stuck up in awkward angles in the back after he slept. What would he be doing with Jon so far up in the north anyway? The Red Woman had surely….

Hazarding gentle fingers on his shoulders, Arya let herself feel the muscles that lay under the skin. Yes, the shoulders were broad enough, and his jaw was set and firm. But he was so much taller than she remembered him to be. Then again, she also must look so different from when they last saw each other.

There was only one way to know, though, and with a look behind her to ensure that she was truly alone, Arya began to lower the thick blankets that kept him warm. Down they dropped, down until she could finally look at his navel. And there it was, the small brown freckle that sat just beside the landmark hole. How many times had she glanced down Gendry's torso while he worked only to be met with its familiar sight on his abdomen? Too many times to count. It was as fixed in her mind as his voice had been. 

Yes, this was Gendry. As impossible as it all felt, they had somehow met again.

Yet again, she was thankful that she had been left alone in the room, for now there would be no witnesses to the tears that were beginning to drip down her cheeks.

  
  



	2. Part 2

Arya took in a shaky breath, praying that the crackling of the fireplace would mask the sound to the man who stood by the table with her. The blood and dirt from Gendry’s body had been cleaned, and the bones in his foot had been set and splinted. This left only one unfinished task.

It was time to suture the wound in his chest. 

She wished that she could put it off, wished that she could pass the job on to someone else. But that was impossible. The maester was likely too drunk to hold a needle straight, and she doubted that any of the other men in Eastwatch knew how to stitch a wound half as well as her.

Besides, she could never easily pass off this task to anyone else, not when the person before her was one of her dearest friends.

In the House of Black and White, most who came to receive the Gift were ill of body or heart. But on occasion there were some who would stumble in through the large doors with deep physical wounds that no man could hope to heal, wounds that were left open and oozing even after the person had taken their final breath. It was there in that building that Arya had finally learned to use a needle properly, trying and failing many times before she could neatly line up the stitching on the bodies that she helped to clean and prepare.

Gendry wasn’t a body, though; at least not yet. And she would do everything in her power to keep it from happening.

The broad man standing beside her held up the small bowl of boiled wine, and Arya dipped her fingers inside to take up one of the lengths of thread that swam in the liquid. It was fed through the needle in half a second, and she then ordered the man to splash some of the hot liquid over Gendry’s wound.

A strangled groan came from Gendry’s throat, but nothing more. Arya bit down hard on the inside of her bottom lip, stepping around the table to the wounded side.

“What’s your name?” she asked softly, turning her eyes up to the man now across the table from her.

“Elger, milady,” he answered softly, only making eye contact for a brief moment.

“Elger, if he starts to wake while I stitch him, don’t let him off of this table. He’ll be strong, but you’re not the one with the hole in his chest,” she said firmly, watching until Elger straightened his shoulders and nodded.

She steeled herself then, gathering herself and looking down at the gaping wound before her. That’s all this was, just a wound that needed stitching. No more could she think about who the wound belonged to. It was just a wound.

Lowering her hands, she gathered the slick skin and pulled the gap closed. Then the sliver of metal was pulled through. No reaction came, so she proceeded.

Stitch after stitch was pulled and tied, working until it became almost monotonous. Not too shallow, but not too deep; not too far apart, but not too close together; never pulling the skin tighter than it should be. Arya schooled her eyes to stay on the task and soon all else easily melted away. Nothing else mattered now but her hands, the wound, and the sharp crackle of the fireplace. 

When she ran out of thread another length was pulled from the bowl. Once or twice the corner of her eye caught the man beginning to shift from foot to foot, but Elger stayed quiet. The body below her occasionally moved as well. With every other stitch or so she felt the chest flex or jerk, but Gendry never woke, and so she continued.

The last stitch landed just on the other side of the breastbone. “There, that will hold,” she announced. “Splash the rest of the wine on the wound. I’ll bandage it, and then we can get him onto the bed.”

Elger did just as she asked as soon as the words left her mouth, and Arya nearly wondered if he was afraid of her. Once she had succeeded in wrapping the cloth strips around Gendry’s chest, Elger moved to lift Gendry’s upper body, while Arya scooped up his leg, and together they moved him the few steps over to the low bed.

“Could you find him some clean pants, and a loose shirt?” she asked once Gendry was settled and the thick blankets tucked up under his chin. “I’ll need to change those bandages often.”

“Of course, milady,” Elger replied, with his low voice and eyes that still hesitated to meet hers. “I’ll see what we have laying around.” Arya had just turned her attention back to Gendry when Elger spoke up again, surprising her slightly and causing her to turn back around to him.

“I remember him, from before they left to go north of The Wall,” he said almost fondly. “Didn’t know his name back then, but he saw where we didn’t have no proper smith, so he spent his spare time making up some new shoes for our horses. Saved us all a lot of trouble.”

Arya smiled. Hearing that didn’t surprise her in the least. She watched as Elger reached down and patted Gendry’s uninjured foot before taking his leave of the room.

She couldn’t help herself, then, and prayed that he wouldn’t be quick in returning as tears finally began to drop freely from her face once more. Sinking down to sit on the bed beside him, a hand was raised to brush along his brow, still cold and dry despite the roaring flames in the hearth.

But he was safe now, she would see to it, would watch his back as she always had before.

********************

He slept for the rest of that day, and the day after that. Sometimes when she would enter the room to check on him it looked as though he might wake up, but then would only mumble and drift back into deep rest.  _ ‘At least he’s sleeping well.’ _ she had told herself in an attempt to be grateful. A portion of her worried though. She had seen what happened to those who would come to The House only to lay motionless in the alcoves, wallowing in sorrow or shame. More than a few days with nothing to eat or drink would leave them too weak to make a sound, and after that would come The Gift. But she would think no further on that. Gendry seemed strong and vibrant; it would take so much more than that to put him down.

Changing his bandages came to be more of a challenge than she had originally thought. The one on his foot was the easiest, but the large swath that had been wrapped around his chest was the most tender, and Gendry groaned and huffed whenever she would remove the bloody cloth. She did her best to talk to him as she worked, though, and at times it seemed to help.

“I saw some swords in Braavos that you would have loved.” she told him one time, when peeling the bloody bandage from his chest left him whimpering in his stupor. “One man had a hilt that looked like a lion's paw, with a lion’s head helm to match it.”

Gendry only sighed as she dabbed some cool ointment over the stitches.

“Didn’t look as good as your bull’s head though. This man never polished his.”

A weak huff came from Gendry that sounded suspiciously like “Stupid.”

Arya was left to her own for the most part, save for Elger bringing her the occasional clean bandages and fresh water. The rest of the men had their own concerns, and a wounded young man who by all rights should have died beyond the wall was at the bottom of their lists. And so it was that Arya found herself sitting in the small chamber from before dawn until the sun sat low behind the trees. Even when she left his chambers that first night she felt wrong, as though she was abandoning him. Forcing herself into her own bed led only to wake-less hours of staring at the dark walls, listening to the faint howl of the wind off of the Wall. Finally, Arya found herself mindlessly sliding from the bed and gathering up her blankets. The hall was just as dark and quiet as it had been only an hour prior, meaning that she walked unopposed to the neighboring room where her friend lay motionless.

A lone candle sat on the table by the bed, lighting the features on Gendry's still face. Arya couldn't help but remain at her place by the door, watching the shadows change ever so slightly as his chest rose with a breath, only to release it and repeat yet again. He truly had matured since she saw him last, the thought rolling through her mind as she moved closer to the bed. His jaw was more defined, and wrinkles sat where none had been when he was a boy. 

Spreading her blankets on the floor beside the bed, Arya wondered further as to what else may have changed. Was he still gruff and silent to most everyone he met? Did he still smith as skillfully as he had before? She assumed that he must because the same muscles that she had watched him form still composed his figure. But did he remember her? Would he still want to be her friend? Had he changed so much in that regard, the only aspect of him that was hidden from her now? Arya laid her head down on the floor, pulling the covers around her before reaching up over the edge of the straw mattress and resting her hand on his. She could have sworn that his fingers twitched at the gentle contact. Hopefully he would wake soon, and then she would have answers. And if he didn't wake…. 

Arya pushed the thought away as she felt her body finally began to surrender to the night. No, Gendry was strong, stronger than even a cold death.

And that was how the next two nights were kept.

********

A dream had Arya entranced with its visions of snow and rocks, and a song that she very much wanted to remember. It was so strong around her that she nearly missed the voice that spoke underneath it all. It was a deep voice, and somewhat familiar to her. And then suddenly she was pulled out of the dream and back into the dark bedroom. The candle had gone out at some point, but early rays of morning light were beginning to lighten the sky outside of the wide window. It was by that dim glow that Arya looked above her and saw movement on the bed.

“Anyone there?” the voice groaned low again, punctuated by a hiss and a whispered curse.

Arya shot up from her place on the floor, startling Gendry on the bed. “It’s alright. I’m here,” she said softly and pulled herself to stand. Though she could see his movement, the expression on his face was still too shadowed to read. He was awake though. That was enough. “You’re at Eastwatch.”

Gendry groaned through his nose and rested his head back on the pillow. “Did I make it in time? Did she save the others?”

“I can’t say,” she admitted honestly. “We saw dragons fly over yesterday, but haven’t heard anything more.” 

Gendry let out a deep breath at that and shifted on the mattress. “I guess I’ve been out a while?”

“Three days nearly.”

“My mouth certainly feels like it.” 

Arya smiled, unable to care if he could see it on her face or not. He still had it, that dry surliness at the face of any minor inconvenience. “I’ll get some water and another candle.” Gendry only grunted at that, but Arya cared not, quickly spinning around towards the door. Back out into the hallway, she went, down to her own room to fetch the unused water jug and retrieve the small lantern that hung further down the corridor.

By the time Arya returned, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness just enough that she could see Gendry sitting hunched on the side of the bed. His groans of pain made her both roll her eyes and rush to his side. “You need to stay in bed or that chest wound won’t hea…”

No sooner had she placed a hand on his bare shoulder than it was roughly shoved away. 

“I’ll get up when I please,” he barked, making Arya frown. The lantern and water jug was slammed on the bedside table, causing some of the cool liquid to slosh out.

“No, you won’t,” she rebutted just as firmly. “You may have the cock here, but I’m the one who’s been seeing to those wounds since your frozen ass showed up here. Now get back in that bed before I have to tie you to it.”

Gendry didn’t reply, which surprised Arya very much. Instead he just sat there, the faint light of the lantern showing the squinting of his eyes as he looked up at her. Then, slowly, he raised one hand to take the lantern and hold it higher so that the light hit her face directly. His tongue slid out to lick at his dry lips, mouth remaining open as if he was trying to decide if he should say anything. It honestly worried Arya, if only a little, that his mind was somehow slipping from him. Perhaps the cold had done more damage than she had thought? Perhaps it wasn’t only his body that had suffered, but his sanity as well? But then his eyes began to shine with tears, and his other hand came up to touch at her chin, then her nose, and on up to her brow.

“Arya?”

His voice was soft, nearly a whisper, and containing none of his grumpiness from only moments prior. Arya nodded slowly, beginning to realize what was going on inside of his thoughts. He hadn’t recognized her. How stupid of her, she thought! She hadn’t recognized him at first sight, so how was he supposed to know that it was her? But now he did know, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “H...how…”

“I came back,” she replied, smiling back down at him.

“Aye, you did. From where?”

Her smile grew. “Lay back down, and I’ll tell you where I’ve been.”


	3. Part 3

“Gendry,” Arya hissed, jumping to the doorway.

“M’fine,” he muttered but made no more fuss as she took his arm around her shoulder and helped to pull him off of the crates that he had careened into. With no small effort, he hobbled along through the kitchen beside her until she placed him on a low stool by the ovens. It appeared as though he had taken all of the furs from his bed and draped them over his body before undergoing the long trek from his room to the kitchens, and his chapped face poking out of them nearly made her laugh in spite of the annoyance.

“I told you to stay in bed,” she scolded, turning back to where she had been cutting the potatoes. “It’s too soon to be up.” 

“It was boring by myself,” Gendry grunted, and looking over at him, it was unmistakable to Arya the way that he huddled just a little closer to the warm bricks. In the two days since he had awoken it had been near impossible to keep him in his bed, much less his room.

Just the day before she had been writing out a letter in the maester’s chambers when Elger had alerted her to Gendry’s attempt at making a visit to the smithy. As she darted down the stairs, her mind had been filled with every curse and insult imaginable, intent on dragging him back up to his room by the ears on his huge thick head. It had all proved for nothing, though, when she nearly wet herself laughing upon finding that he couldn’t even make it out across the courtyard. He had scowled at her from his seat on a barrel, only to hear her laugh harder when he explained that he ran out of strength on the way out.

“Well, breakfast has already been had, but I’m fixing a stew. Think you can stomach it to eat some?” Arya tossed the potato pieces into the pot.

"Not hungry enough," he frowned. "Too cold to be eating."

"It should be the other way around, Gendry. If you don't eat when you're cold then you'll die." That had been another challenge, getting him to eat anything with sustenance. 

Words were grumbled under his breath.

“Thought maybe another raven would come today,” Arya commented, knife splitting another potato. “But there looks to be a storm coming on.”

Another grumble, but she could make out the words of this one. “I’ll leave in a bloody storm if I have to.”

“Leave? Where?”

“Who said anything about leaving?”

Arya’s face jerked up to look at him. “You did! Now, where on the gods’ land would you leave off to when you can’t even walk on your own?”

“I’m going back to Jon.” He still wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Jon? Why? He’s all the way at Dragonstone according to his last letter.”

“All the more reason to leave out as soon as I can get a horse under me.”

“Which won’t be anytime soon, Gendry,” she said with finality and turned back to the potatoes. “You’re still injured. Besides that, Winterfell is closer. We can both ride there as soon as you're healed. Sansa will let you stay as long as you need.”

“And she’ll be more accepting of a base-born bastard companion than your mother would have?”

Arya grit her teeth. “You helped our brother. You helped the King in the North.”

“And what is there to show for it?” he growled, voice raising as much as his strength would allow. “I’m stuck in the coldest of the seven hells while I can’t even move around for warmth.”

The tone of his voice dug into her chest. She knew that if she were to turn and look at him she would find a broken expression looking back up at her. So she didn’t. Moments passed by in silence, Arya slicing until the vegetable lay on chunks on the table before being dropped into the boiling pot behind her, and Gendry huddled on his stool while he made a close inspection of the cracks in the floorboards.

Finally, she huffed through her nose. “Here.”

Gendry hardly had time to raise his head before she was shoving a small knife into his hand and a bag of carrots in front of his stool.

“Make yourself useful.”

It was hard not to let a smile slip when Gendry replied with, “Yes, milady.” The silence felt acceptable between them then, so Arya did nothing to change it. Slowly, gently, they were coming back together as they had been before. They had both grown, had both seen sorrow beyond measure, but yet here they were once more.

*********************

From his place on the bed, Gendry had begun eyeing her warily from the moment she had stepped into the room. She couldn’t blame him for it, the look of the vials and clean cloth that sat in the small wooden box would have been enough to bring anyone to question, let alone someone in his situation.

“Here,” Arya said, setting the box on the table and pulling a large skin of wine from it. “Drink.”

She tossed it over to Gendry, who just barely caught it with his good hand. One eyebrow raised as he looked back and forth from it to her.

Arya rolled her eyes. “I’m changing your bandages.”

“And I need this why?” he asked almost hesitantly, holding up the wineskin.

“Because your wounds were pretty deep,” she sighed. “And it probably won’t be easy.”

His eyes continued to stay on her, but he sat up against the pillows and slowly opened the skin to begin taking deep drinks from it. Arya sat on the bed beside him, placing herself at his injured side, and tugged at his shirt as a hint to remove it.

With a furrowed brow, he obeyed, drawing the garment over his head and dropping it to the floor before leaning back and resuming his frequent sips. The cloth that wrapped over his chest bore a faint redness over the front, one that grew and darkened as she began to unravel it.

"D'you learn to do this in Braavos?" Gendry asked, leaning his head back against the headboard.

Arya hummed in affirmation, careful not to peel off the sticky fabric too quickly.

"Who taught you?"

"No one," she replied with a smirk, cutting her eyes up to watch him narrow his own. 

Gendry huffed and took in another swig.

"The storms should pass by the time your wounds heal. Should be an easy ride to Winterfell."

"Not going to Winterfell," he mumbled gruffly.

Arya crooked an eyebrow. "You’re surely not still-"

"I'm going to meet with Jon," Gendry cut her off, grunting as the last of the bandaging came off. "Wherever he ends up next."

Arya frowned and sighed, not at the wound but at his words. No, his wound was healing very nicely. True, there would be a deep scar to mark him for the rest of his life, but he would live. He would live, but now only to run himself in the direction of danger, a direction that he seemed bent on taking no matter her cautions.

"Gendry, Jon knows we're here. He said that he would return to Winterfell once his duty in the south is finished. We should wait there."

"Won't fuckin’ wait anywhere," he grumbled, and Arya suspected that it was the wine beginning to talk. Good, now she could proceed.

Gendry continued to stew in his annoyance as she took some of the ointment from her box and began to dab it gently across the red swollen line, careful to avoid the tender stitching. She did her best not to think of his dangerous intentions, and instead found her mind drifting slowly to how this wound would look when it was healed; a raised line across his chest, across his heart, that he could tell stories about. Would he tell it to his children? Would his wife one day trace her fingers over it? She found her face heating at that thought, and how good it would look on him when he was once again strong enough to stand shirtless in his forge.

She became lost in her thoughts and found that she had tuned out Gendry's mumbling.

".....rowing all that time. People didn't even recognize me when I turned back up in Flea Bottom."

Arya smirked, finding his words beginning to slur and his thoughts to become less inhibited. She continued to smear the ointment over the smaller scratches and cuts, the ones that didn't require stitching or heavy bandaging.

"...even when I…." he stopped mid-sentence and turned his head downwards. "Smells nice," he half sighed.

"It's made from a few healing plants. And clean oil." 

"I like it." He leaned his head back and shut his eyes. "Smells like you."

Arya's hands stopped as a laugh broke out from her chest. "Like me?"

"Aye." He smiled as well. "Like when we were young, traveling together. You always did smell like trees….and grass…." Arya let out another soft laugh and went to put the ointment back into the box. It was then, though, that she felt his hand move up to rest on her side. Looking back to him, she was met with soft eyes that locked with hers. "I thought about you a lot."

She knew it must be the wine working in him, but nonetheless her chest suddenly felt just a little bit lighter. "You did?"

He nodded somberly. "Nearly every day."

She looked down at his hand on her and gently took it in hers. "We'll let that wound air out a bit before I put another bandage on."

"In that case, share the rest with me?" His sloppy, drunken smile and heavy eyes drew out yet another laugh from her as she took the skin from his hand before sitting beside him and leaning back against the wall.

"If you’re so determined to ride south, then we'll have to part ways because I'm going to Winterfell."

Gendry's chest rumbled in a groan. "Nothing I can say to turn you?"

Arya brought the skin to her lips yet again. "I need to be with Sansa again. I...just need to."

Gendry's nod indicated that he understood, yet he still sighed and leaned over against her. "So we'll be saying goodbye. Again."

"We will."

"You could come with me, y'know? Be like before, only now we'd be going south. And Jon would be so excited when I turned up with you riding beside me."

She hummed pleasantly. "I'd like that.”

"We're older now. Can take care of each other better."

Arya tilted her head back to take another gulp from the skin. As she did, though, something began to brush along her hair. She stopped and then felt as Gendry’s fingers moved up the length of her locks, caressing them lightly, almost reverently.

“Your hair grew,” he observed.

“It did,” she smirked, taking another small drink.

“It was so short back when they took me away,” Gendry slurred with an air of sadness. “But I like this.”

Arya almost felt as though she should stop him. At least, that seemed the right thing to do. But then his fingers moved up and onto her scalp, gently dragging the tips of his digits along it as he raked them through her hair. A pleasant feeling began to run through her, and her eyes slipped closed of their own accord.

“I’ll keep it long for you then.”

“I could braid it if you wanted.” he half-whispered, leaning in a little closer.

“And can you braid?” she called his bluff.

“No,” he admitted, not to her surprise. “But I’d learn for you.” His lips pressed gently just above her ear, hand moving just low enough to caress the fine hairs above her neck.

Her eyes closed, the sensations from his touch mingled so wonderfully with the heat of the wine in her blood. Never before had she been in a position quite like this. But it was Gendry. She had trusted him with her life for so long, and the trust was still there as she turned her head and placed it on his bare shoulder. For all of his complaints about the cold of the North, his skin still held the same deep warmth that she remembered pressing against her back in the Riverlands. Arya sighed softly at it and leaned forwards just enough to connect her lips to the skin of his neck.

"Arya…" 

The whisper of her name on his lips made her breath catch. She pressed another kiss, this time allowing her lips to linger and her tongue to dart out and catch his taste. 

They had been apart for so many years, and Gendry had been so weak from his injuries, that Arya found that she had forgotten just how strong he had been in his youth. But it was then that he proved to her how he was even stronger as a man grown. As soon as the salt of his skin hit her tongue, Arya found his uninjured arm quickly wrapping around her waist to pull her closely to his chest, her hand quickly griping at his neck so as not to fall on his wound. Gendry held her firm, though, and guided them down to lay on the bed where he held her close and softly feathered his lips over hers.

*************************************

Even through the remaining haze of the wine, Arya could already feel that something was different. The room around her seemed too empty, too lonely, and when she opened her eyes she found the cause.

Gendry was nowhere to be seen.

A groan was soon followed by a curse as she pulled herself from the bed. They had lain so closely and had shared so many soft kisses that she reasoned that they must have fallen asleep against each other.

But now the fire had gone out and the room was dark and it took her a few extra minutes to make sense of the hazy shapes around her. His leathers were missing, as well as his cloak and boots. Even worse in her mind, Arya realized that she had never had the chance to rebandage his chest wounds. Pulling her own boots and cloak on, Arya threw open the door and moved quickly through the darkened hallways. Less than a handful of men were met on her route, but they were all ignored as she descended down through the keep and out into the frigid night and it's quickly growing storm.

She prayed desperately that she was right in where to find him. And even if she was right, Arya couldn't imagine him having gotten far in such weather, her own eyes blinking hard against the blowing snow that assaulted the stone and wood buildings. A small breath of relief came when she found herself to be correct, rounding the doorway into the stables to find his dark form against the much larger one of a horse.

He didn't even turn around when she called his name, leaving her to guess that he had expected her to come looking.

"What in seven hells are you going?" she exclaimed, quickening her steps to approach.

He still gave no reply, struggling instead to use his good arm to adjust the saddle straps.

She was finally close enough by the time that she could see what he was doing, and quickly shoved his hand away. Gendry growled and shoved back, sending her steps backward a few paces.

"Gendry you stop this!" she finally yelled, making once more to grab his arm.

"No," he replied with just as much fervor. "I have to go. Have to get back to where I belong."

Arya saw red in her mind then and punched him in right where she knew the bandages would be under his clothing. With a howl, he reeled back, and Arya took the chance to grab the saddle off of the frightened horse and throw it down the darkened walkway.

"Gendry, you're not going anywhere." The scream of the words surprised even her and caused Gendry's eyes to widen where he stood. "Look at you! You're about to ride out into a snowstorm with nothing but yourself and your stupid wounds!" She made to step closer, but Gendry only backed himself into a stall door and leaned heavily against it. As Arya stepped closer, his silhouette began to curl into itself, and if she could have seen his face properly she would not have been surprised to find tears.

"I have to go," he whispered in a broken voice. 

She moved closer still until she was near enough to press her cheek to his arm. "But why?" she whispered as well.

"You don't understand." His voice was near to her face, and she found her eyes adjusting enough to see that his head was bowed low against his chest. "Davos brought me to your brother and...he understood. He was a friend to me." Arya found herself pressing closer against him as he spoke. His spirit was breaking and she could feel it deep within hers. "But he's also your brother. That's why I ran...ran so far. Didn't want to let him down too."

"Gendry," she sighed, still in a whisper. "You didn't let me down."

In the darkness, he pressed his forehead to hers. "I did. You were my family. You always were. And he's your brother, so he's family too, and I have to help him."

"No, you don't." She was pleading now, and a part of her hated how helpless it made her sound. But another part of her wanted him to understand. "Don't leave me again, Gendry."

A chill passed through his body along with a hitching sob, and it urged her to tilt her head forwards. The touch of her lips to his brought on tears to roll down her cheeks, tears to match his own, and it took no time at all for his arms to circle her into himself. The blinding storm still blew past the open doorway, but for the moment they took shelter in each other.

When they finally seemed it necessary to part, it was only to lead the horse back into its stall. Then, hands were joined as Arya led Gendry back out into the swirling winds and up to the keep's doors.

Back up to his room they walked, slowly and carefully, never once turning loose of each other, as if the howling winds would somehow knock down the walls and carry one or the other away. Once they got there, Arya helped Gendry to slowly undress from his thick cloak and leathers. His shirt was removed with care, and he needed no prodding as she motioned for him to lay back down on the bed.

“I’ll need to get the bandages,” she said softly and leaned down to smooth a hand along his short hair. “Will I still find you here?”

“Yes, milady.”

  
  


********

It felt as though Arya was looking out over the known world. With the wild North before her, the South and all of its troubles behind her, and the endlessly churning sea to her side. Turning to her other side, though, changed the mood that filled her mind as she watched Gendry tucking his hands into his armpits and making pitiful little stamps into the ice beneath them. 

“Not to your liking?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.

Gendry gave a jerked shake of his head, eyes cutting over and into her with obvious disdain. She had told him time and time again that she held no expectations for him to join her, that he was more than welcome to stay indoors while she made the ascent to the top of the Wall. He would hear none of it though, giving only little grumbles of displeasure as he bundled himself in every scrap of fabric and fur that was available to him.

The sun had just begun it’s westward descent above them. Streams of bright sunlight broke through the clouds above them at irregular intervals and sent shimmers running through the fresh snow below them.

"Thank you for coming up with me."

"Of course," She felt him lean in a little closer to her.

"You didn't come up here last time?"

"No. Didn't have a clear enough day. And I wasn't about to freeze my balls off if I couldn't see anything."

"What about Jon?"

Gendry snorted at that. "He came up here at least once a day before we left. Never would give a reason, and never did want company when he did. Not that I'd have gone anyways."

Arya smiled, but closed her eyes momentarily and did her best to take in the moment around them.

"You've got five good men going with you to the docks. You'll leave in two days on a ship to meet with Jon."

His back straightened against her, and it was several seconds before he spoke. "I do? I am?"

Arya nodded and opened her eyes to look down at her boots. "You gave my brother a promise to follow him. Who am I to pull you away from it?"

"But what about you?" It wasn't lost on her how his arm tightened around her waist. She loved the feeling, and almost wished that she could dwell in it for just a little longer.

"I'll wait a night or so and slip out on my own for Winterfell. Some of the men would want to join me, but they would just slow me down, and Sansa needs help as quickly as I can come."

Gendry dropped his head to rest on top of hers. The weight of it was so pleasant and she gently pressed closer to him. "So, you'll be waiting there for me? At Winterfell? You promise that?" he asked softly, voice so full of hope.

"I promise you." she smiled and nuzzled her nose against his frozen jawline. "We'll be there together. And always afterward."


End file.
